


Indelible

by Bad_Faery



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: F/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9349763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Faery/pseuds/Bad_Faery
Summary: In which Joseph gets a tattoo, and Belle sees something she wasn't meant to see.





	

Joseph MacAvoy stepped into the tiny bathroom just off his office in the church and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of bleach and lemon that indicated that Belle had been here recently, transforming his once-dingy surroundings into something fresh and new and beautiful.

Like her.

Belle French had joined his small congregation three years ago, appearing in the church as though God Himself had placed her there.  To a church and a priest who’d been quietly mouldering away, she was less a breath of fresh air than an incoming force of nature.  Within a month, she’d cleaned the church and the rectory from top to bottom, ridding it of years of clutter and cobwebs.  Within three months, she’d organized a variety of charity activities from running a food pantry to providing companionship to the elderly.  Within six months, the church’s membership had doubled.

And within two weeks, Joseph MacAvoy had been head over heels in love.

As a priest, Joseph was forbidden the comfort of human contact.  He was free neither to love nor be loved, and he’d never felt that restriction more keenly than the day he looked into Belle’s eyes and saw himself reflected there.  She was so beautiful that surely angels must weep with jealousy, but it was her kindness that drew him to her.  Sweet, gentle Belle spoke to him like he was more than a pathetic drunk.  She looked at him like he _mattered_ , and Joseph, who’d never mattered to anyone _ever_ , was enraptured.

He loved Belle French more than he’d ever loved anything— even more than God.

Although it had to be obvious to her that he was a useless fool, she’d never treated him like one.  Instead, she asked him his opinion on theological matters and gave him tasks to complete as though she was utterly confident that he would be able to succeed.  Joseph, overwhelmed by the faith she put in him, did his best to live up to her image of him, and to his own surprise, he’d found himself becoming something approaching competent.

He drank less and spent more time on his sermons, polishing them until they were more than an incomprehensible jumble of half-finished thoughts.  He would never be articulate and no one would ever mistake him for a deep thinker, but at least now people stayed awake for the entire service.  

Belle had changed _everything_ , just by being Belle.  Now, the tidy church hummed with activity.  He no longer had to carry a flask with him and steal nips during the day to keep his hands from shaking.  The church was becoming a vital part of the community, and the bishops were no longer threatening to transfer him to a distant parish in Antarctica if he didn’t pull himself together.  

The only fly in the blissful ointment that was his life was the sinful desire that now haunted his days.  Until Belle came to Middlesbrough, he’d been immune to the sins of the flesh.  He should have known that Satan wouldn’t let him go so easily.

Never in his life had Joseph felt lust, but he was drowning in it now, and whiskey did nothing to quench the flames of his desire.  Images played in his head on a constant loop of all the things he dreamed of doing to Belle— stroking her tumbling curls, kissing her delectable mouth, feeling her soft body pressed against his own.  Every forbidden desire that he’d ever heard whispered about during confession had wormed its way into his own treacherous body, and there was no escape.

He’d been a priest for so long that he’d never learned how to be a man.  Joseph had no idea what to do with his urges.  Occasionally he would take his cock in hand and dream of Belle as he fondled himself, but those interludes were always brief and unsatisfactory.  He didn’t want the touch of his own hand.  He wanted to touch _Belle_.

The longing increased by the day, pressure building up behind his eyes and in his gut to make his head pound and his legs shake.  If he didn’t find a release, he’d lose his mind and do something insane, like rip off his trousers in the middle of Mass and start speaking in tongues or— worse— throw himself at Belle’s feet and plead for her touch.  

He could, conceivably, pass the first possibility off as a kind of religious mania, but there would be no coming back from the second.

It was the need for secrecy that hurt the most.  If he could just speak his feelings aloud, he’d be able to endure them, but the only person in the world he could trust with such a secret was Belle herself.  If he felt this way about anyone else, he’d be able to confide in her and know that she would never breathe a word to a living soul.  She’d counsel him and comfort him, and with her help, he would overcome his sinful urges.

But he couldn’t confide in Belle, and so the feelings only grew stronger and more fierce until he feared his skin would no longer be able to contain them.  She’d changed everything, changed _him_ , and he had to continue to play the role of the ascetic Father MacAvoy instead of allowing himself to be Joseph, the man who would sell his soul for the briefest touch of her hand.

And then he’d found his answer.

Joseph held his own gaze in the mirror as he pulled his collar insert free and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, taking his time with the action in order to enjoy the anticipation.  He knew what he’d see when he allowed himself to glance down, but the first glimpse always hit him like a punch to the gut, making his stomach roil at the same time that a wash of contentment soothed his desire.

Drunks and tattoo parlors went together like bread and jam, and the only surprise was that he hadn’t found his way into one until he’d gotten himself sobered up.  To this day, Joseph couldn’t quite remember what had triggered him, but he clearly remembered his reasoning— Belle had changed his life.  It was only right that she change his body too, leave some visible sign of the impact she’d made on him.

The tattoo artist had been patient with him, listening to him babble for some time about his love for Belle with words like “angel” generously sprinkled in.  For the first time in his life, Joseph truly understood the power of confession.  The entire time he talked, the other man had sketched, and when Joseph finally ran out of words, he’d turned his tablet around to display what he’d drawn: a pair of angel wings folded into the shape of a heart framing Belle’s name written in beautiful script.

It was perfection.

When the needle first bit into him, he’d nearly jumped out of his skin, the rush of pain and pleasure and adrenaline mingling together until his brain overloaded, leaving him drowning in sensation.  This was the joy of penance, the ecstasy of the mortification of the flesh.  He had sinned, and this was the price.

It was agony, and it was bliss, and Joseph never wanted it to end.  Yet when the buzzing stopped and the needle had left its final inky trail, the finished product was better yet.  There was Belle, held safe in the wings of an angel, forever emblazoned on his chest right above his own heart.  No matter what happened, she would always be right there with him.  He would never be alone again.

Even the itching and burning as the tattoo slowly healed was pleasurable.  It was a constant reminder of what he’d done, the secret he wore beneath his clothes.  Now he had an outlet, and when his desires became too much, he could gaze into the mirror and see Belle’s name imprinted on him, an indelible part of his being.

Sometimes it wasn’t enough just to look, but when the craving became too much, the tattoo parlor was always there, and the needle’s familiar sting would soothe his soul as it mortified his flesh, giving him another talisman of his beloved to wear beneath his skin.  

Joseph closed his eyes as he undid the final button and pulled his shirt open, baring his chest to the mirror.  Only then did he allow himself to open them again, his breath catching at the sight of his own private shrine.

The first was still his favorite, and his eyes found it immediately, taking in every detailed feather as the wings folded themselves around Belle’s name.  Joseph traced each letter with his gaze and then with a single fingertip as he mouthed her name to himself, aware that elsewhere in the church, Belle was going about her business, oblivious to what was happening in this bathroom.  

Next came the rose, his first foray into color.  It was Belle’s favorite flower, and she’d put one on his desk one day when she noticed he’d been feeling gloomy, just to make him smile.  Now it lived forever on his chest, the soft petals half open, eternally blooming with hope and optimism, vibrant red against his pale flesh.  

Then there was the book.  Belle was an inveterate reader, dipping into the book she kept in her purse whenever she had a free moment.  Snuggled next to it was the teacup, a memento of their own private ritual.  Every day, when Belle finished her tasks at the church, she would make a pot of tea and bring it into his office so they could sit and talk as they drank, and that half hour was the highlight of Joseph’s day.

While his first tattoo was still his favorite, the most recent one took a close second.  Every year for Christmas and his birthday, Belle gave him a card in which she’d taken the time to write a lovely note and signed it “With love, Belle.”  The cards were his most prized possessions, and now her affectionate signature lived on his chest, the tattoo a perfect replica of her handwriting.  Belle might only love him as a friend or a father figure, but she _did_ love him, and now Joseph carried a reminder of that love with him everywhere he went.

Once he’d finished tracing the tattoos with his fingers, Joseph braced his hands on the sink and leaned closer to the mirror, drinking in the sight of them.  With his shirt buttoned, no one would ever guess at the art that decorated his skin.  To them, he was just shy, quiet Father MacAvoy, and the thought of his parishioners’ reactions should they learn the truth made Joseph chuckle.  He had a secret— a beautiful secret just like his love for Belle.

Belle probably wouldn’t find any of it beautiful, and that reminder made his smile fall as he carefully did up the buttons on his shirt.  It was nearly four o’clock, tea time, and it wouldn’t do for Belle to catch a glimpse of his secret.  To her, he was a priest, not a man, and learning that he lusted after her would be the worst sort of betrayal.  Right now, Belle trusted him, and Joseph wouldn’t trade that trust for anything.  Therefore, he was very careful not to undo a single button in her presence lest she catch a glimpse of something she didn’t want to see.

Once his shirt was securely buttoned and his collar insert was back in place, Joseph carefully smoothed his hair and examined his teeth to make sure nothing was trapped there.  Satisfied that he was as presentable as he could make himself, he took his place at his desk and bent studiously over his half-written sermon just as Belle bustled into the room, her tea tray in hand.

“Am I interrupting, Father?”

With a smile, Joseph pushed aside the paper he hadn’t been reading.  “Of course not.  Please come in.”  Feeling daring, he risked saying a little more.  “You could never bother me.”

“Oh good!”  Her brilliant smile took his breath away.  “I enjoy our talks so much.  I’m glad you do too.”

When Belle reached for the teapot, Joseph grabbed his cup and held it out to her, trying to be helpful.  At least that was his plan.  Instead, unable to look away from her eyes, he managed to strike her in the elbow, and a hot rush of humiliation washed over him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”  Belle’s pink lips opened on a cry of dismay, distracting him from the realization that it wasn’t humiliation burning his skin.

“I’m so clumsy!  I’m sorry!”  Belle’s hands fluttered over him, and Joseph’s mind overloaded when her fingers came to rest on his burning chest.  “Just hold still.  Let me get this off of you before it soaks through.”

She’d doused him with the tea, he realized, barely feeling the hot liquid.  Belle was closer to him than she’d ever been, practically in his lap.  He could see every individual curl of her hair bouncing as she bent over him, and if he leaned forward just an inch more, he’d be able to feel it tickling against his face as she unbuttoned his shirt…

His shirt.

With a noise of panic, Joseph lurched back, clutching at his collar like a Victorian maiden.  “I’m fine!”

She’d gotten three buttons undone while he was in his trance, not enough to reveal his secret but still too close for comfort.  Joseph gritted his teeth, hissing when he felt the liquid drip onto his skin as it finished soaking through his shirt.  He could feel it leaving burning trails down his chest, heading for parts south, and tried to ignore it.  Better to suffer third degree burns than to let Belle see how depraved he was.

Belle was undaunted by his protest.  “You won’t be.  Father, this is no time to be modest.  Burns are serious.”

There was no stopping her when she’d decided on a course of action, so Joseph chose the better part of valor and fled into the small bathroom, slamming the door behind him.  Once his privacy was assured, he wasted no time stripping off the offending garment and dumping it in the sink, exhaling in relief when he freed himself from the sodden cloth.  Even though he’d divested himself of the shirt, his skin still felt hot and tight, and a glance in the mirror told him that despite Belle’s best efforts, he’d managed to scald himself.  His skin was red and angry looking, making the tattoos stand out in livid relief, and as he examined his chest for blisters, he heard a miserable knock on the bathroom door.

“Father, I’m so sorry.  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he soothed, Belle’s distress more painful than the burns.  She must think he was furious with her considering how he’d fled her presence, and that was unacceptable.  “There’s no harm done.  I’ll be out in a moment.”

As soon as he said the words, he realized he’d made a mistake.  His shirt was a soaking pile of cloth, and although it was rapidly cooling, he couldn’t just put it back on and pretend nothing had happened.  The only towels in here were paper, hardly big enough for him to cover himself with.  Joseph wetted a handful of them with cool water and swiped them over his chest to alleviate the burning as he tried to think.  

In answer to an unspoken prayer, Belle’s voice came again.  “I’ll go get you some ointment for the burns.”

“That would be wonderful.  Thank you.”  Without knowing it, Belle had solved everything.  While she was running her errand, he would be free to leave the bathroom, and there was certainly something in his office that he could wear.  There’d been a set of musty old vestments in the office closet for years, and he’d never been more grateful for the unknown priest who’d left them behind.

As soon as he heard the office door close behind Belle, Joseph darted out of the bathroom and headed for the closet, coming up short when he found it empty.  Confused, he took a step back and closed the door before opening it again more slowly, willing his eyes to have been playing tricks on him, but he was greeted by the same sight— an empty closet.  Only a wooden hanger dangling over the clothing rod mocked him with its nakedness.

“Oh _fuck_.”

Apparently he was doomed to spend the rest of his life in the bathroom.  Cursing under his breath, Joseph turned on his heel to return to his self-imposed exile when his office door banged open again.  “Here we go!  I had some in my purse.  I— oh!”

Belle’s blue eyes were wide as they focused on his bare skin, and Joseph belatedly folded his arms across his chest, trying to cover himself with his hands.  Her next words, when they came, were not what he expected.

Resting her hands on her hips, Belle cocked her head to give him an exasperated look.  “Is that why you didn’t want to take your shirt off?  Did you think I’d be shocked?”  She shook her head with a fond smile.  “Silly!  There’s nothing wrong with having tattoos.  I have one too.”

She hadn’t seen!  Joseph’s mind reeled.  From across the room, Belle had seen only enough to know that he had tattoos without taking in the details.  “I apologize for my foolishness.  If you’ll just leave the ointment on the desk…”

Joseph trailed off, swallowing hard, as Belle moved closer to him, her gaze riveted to his folded arms.  “I want to see.”

Her face was flushed, her voice hoarse like she was catching a cold, and Joseph almost reached out to press his hand against her forehead and take her temperature before realizing what an exceptionally poor idea that would be.  “It’s… you don’t…”

“Come on,” Belle wheedled as she stopped only a hand’s breadth away from him.  If he leaned forward even a little, his forearm would brush the swell of her breast, and the thought made him dizzy.  “I won’t tell anyone.  I’ll even show you mine.  What sort of tattoos does a priest get?”

“I… I don’t…”  Joseph’s brain stuttered to a stop when Belle rested her hands on his wrists, applying gentle pressure to coax him to lower his arms.  Physically, it would be easy to resist.  All he had to do was say no or step back, and she would let the matter drop.  

Belle’s lips were softly parted, her breath coming fast, and Joseph was helpless to resist her.  If she wanted to see his chest, he had to show her, even if it destroyed him.  Heart in his throat, he allowed her to push his arms down, revealing everything he’d sought to hide.

“With love…” she whispered, reading the words aloud.  He should have known that she’d look at the words first.  

Her eyelashes fluttered as she shaped the final word with her lips, reading her own name.  “Belle.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, not sure what else to say.  How did one apologize for something like this?

“You…”  With shaking fingers, Belle reached out to trace the folded angel wings that framed her name.  “ _Me_?”

“You,” he confirmed, not sure what she was asking.  It didn’t matter.  Whatever the question, Belle was always the answer.

Her eyes were shining, almost convincing him that she wasn’t appalled by what she was seeing.  Then she took a quick step back, breaking the spell, and Joseph knew he’d been a fool to believe she could ever forgive him for this.

Instead of fleeing the room as he expected, Belle’s hands went to the hem of her shirt, tugging it up to reveal an expanse of pale skin that made his knees go weak.  “A deal’s a deal,” she muttered as she half-turned, presenting him with her side, and Joseph nearly fell to his knees as he saw the play of dark ink beneath her skin.

He loved the sight of his own tattoos, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of one on Belle.  The black ink contrasted with her creamy skin, making it look luminous, and the flowing script emphasized the sweet curve of her ribcage.  The words themselves were almost an afterthought until Joseph realized how important they must be to her if she’d chosen to wear them on her body.  “Bravery will follow.”

“It means… that you shouldn’t let fear stop you.  You should make the brave choice and trust that if you do it enough times, eventually you’ll start to _feel_ brave.”  Belle lowered her hand and allowed her shirt to fall back into place, hiding the tattoo from him once again.  “I didn’t do that.  I’m so sorry.”

“Belle?”  He couldn’t imagine what she was sorry for.  They’d moved so far beyond the tea at this point that the incident might as well have happened in another lifetime.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”  Belle licked her lips and turned pleading eyes on him.  “I couldn’t tell you.  I told myself it was because you’re a priest, and you’d never feel the same way, but that was just an excuse.  I was afraid.  I was afraid I’d ruin everything, so I didn’t say anything.  And all this time… Can you ever forgive me?”

“ _Belle_.”  Beyond words, Joseph held his hands out to her helplessly, his spirit singing when she stepped into his embrace.  Belle’s body was pressed against his, her head tucked under his chin like she’d been made especially for him, and this was a _miracle_.  

“You did nothing wrong.   _Nothing_.”  His voice broke on the word.  “If you… have feelings for me… That’s a miracle.  Belle, you… you’re _everything_.”

As declarations went, it wasn’t much.  Words would never be his forte, but Belle made a soft noise and pressed even closer, her arms tightening around him so that Joseph couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.  He hoped that he would never find out.

He wanted only to hold her until the end of days, but he was only a man, and the feel of Belle’s soft body pressed against his bare chest was more than he could bear.  “I’m sorry,” he moaned as his traitorous flesh stiffened, pressing rudely against her belly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Belle assured him.  She was so close that she had to feel him, but she didn’t step back.  Instead, she nuzzled her face against the crook of his neck, her lips pressing a tender kiss to his skin.

The touch burned more than hot tea ever could, and Joseph keened, the noise loud and primal in the quiet church.  He expected her to be disgusted by him, but Belle only kissed him again, longer this time, and when she brushed her tongue over his flesh, Joseph’s trembling knees gave out.

He landed with a thump on the ancient carpet that decorated his office floor, Belle in his lap.  Giggling, she sat back and framed his face with her hands so she could look into his eyes.  “How long?”

It was all he could do not to rub his face into her hands like a cat.  Belle was touching him.  She’d learned his secret, and instead of shying away from him, she was in his lap.  He could scarcely comprehend it.  “What?”

“How long have you had feelings for me?” she elaborated.  

“Since the day I met you.”  He could barely remember a time he hadn’t been in love with Belle.  Sometimes it seemed like he’d loved her before he’d even known her name, his soul held in suspended animation until she came into his life.  No wonder he’d been so miserable before he knew her.  He’d only been marking time waiting until the day she would arrive and bring him to life.

Belle’s eyes glittered with tears, but she was smiling.  “It was the same for me.  I felt so awful.  I mean, a _priest_?  It seemed so wrong.  But I couldn’t help it.  I’ve never met anyone like you before.  You’re _wonderful_.”

Joseph was aware he was gaping at her like a landed fish, but he couldn’t seem to stop.  Belle thought he was wonderful?  He was just… Joseph.  There was nothing at all special about him.  “I’m not,” he denied instinctively, realizing too late that arguing with the woman he loved when she was trying to tell him that he was wonderful was a really _really_ stupid thing to do.  

Blue eyes narrowed as she gave him a gentle slap.  “Stop that.  You’re gentle and kind and patient.  When someone is in trouble, you try to help.  You listen to people, really _listen_.  Do you have any idea how rare that is?  No one listens.  They’re all just waiting for their own turn to talk.”

Her praise made him squirm.  He wasn’t the paragon that she believed him to be; Joseph _knew_ he wasn’t.  Yet if that was how Belle saw him, what right did he have to argue?

Belle smiled tenderly at him.  “You’re Joseph.  And I love you.”

“Belle!” he sobbed, unable to find the words for everything that was in his heart.  He should be telling her how perfect she was, how she’d saved his soul merely by existing.  He needed to tell her that the world had been dark and hellish until she’d brought her light into his life.  He needed to write sonnets in honor of her goodness and songs lauding her beauty, but Joseph wasn’t a poet, and his tongue never knew the right words to say.  

“I love you.”

Those three small words were all he had, but somehow they were all he needed.  Belle laughed through her tears, beaming at him as though he’d said something she’d been longing to hear for years.  Then her mouth was on his, her lips warm and sweet, and he was lost.

He didn’t know how to do this, but Belle taught him, sliding her hands into his hair to show him how to tilt his head so his nose didn’t get in the way.  She caressed his lips with her own until they softened and parted, his mouth melding with hers until they shared the same breath.

“That’s it,” she whispered, and his skin hummed where he could feel her lips moving against his.  “My sweet Joseph.”

His hands twitched where they rested against the rug, the wool scratching his palms.  He should be touching her.  Joseph knew enough about this to be certain of that, but he didn’t know how.  “I don’t…  I’m a _priest_.”

Immediately, Belle drew back, and his mouth froze without the warmth of her lips against his.  “I’m sorry!  I got carried away.  Of course… You’re a priest.  Of course.  I’m sorry.  I’ll stop.”

That wasn’t at all what he wanted, and his hands moved of their own accord when she tried to get off of his lap, latching onto her hips to hold her in place.  “No!  No, don’t stop.  I meant… I didn’t mean _stop_.”

He was babbling like an idiot, but Belle relaxed and stopped trying to pull away.  “What did you mean?”

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed, feeling sweat trickling down the side of his face.  He was forty-eight years old, and he had no idea how to touch a woman.  Priest or not, it was shameful.  Belle deserved a man who could pleasure her—could _satisfy_ her—and she was going to be so disappointed.  “I’ve never… nothing.”

“Oh, Joseph.”  Belle pressed a kiss to his lips that felt like a benediction.  “Please don’t be embarrassed.  I didn’t mean to rush you.  We’re not going to do anything that you’re not ready for.”

“I want to do everything.”  He wasn’t entirely sure what _everything_ entailed, but he was certain that he wanted it with her.  “I just don’t know how.  Will you… will you show me?”

“Of course I will.”  Her smile was so tender that it made his chest ache.  “You’re sure about this?  There’s no need to rush.  I’m not going anywhere.”

“We’ve already waited years,” he reminded her.  They’d wasted so much time that they could have had together.  Joseph wasn’t willing to let another minute slip away from them.  

They were going to have to talk about that.  He couldn’t be both a priest and Belle’s lover— not the way he wanted to be.  He would have to resign or convert and there would be paperwork and questions to answer and difficulties, but those were problems for another day.   Right now, Belle was in his arms, and she was smiling at him, and nothing else mattered.

“Lie back.”  

He mourned when Belle tugged herself out of his embrace, but she stayed close, moving to sit so closely beside him that he could feel her warmth against his side.  “I want to look at your tattoos.”

When he was very young, Joseph’s mother had taught him to look with his eyes, not his hands.  Apparently, Belle had never learned that lesson because she followed the path of her gaze with her fingertips, making gooseflesh pebble on his skin as she traced every line.  “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“I wanted you near me.”  Now that he had the real Belle beside him, Joseph couldn’t believe that he’d ever been content with only these symbols.

“This whole time… I never would have guessed.”  Her lips followed her fingertips, making him moan and writhe.  “No more secrets, okay?”

“No more,” he promised.  From this moment on, he would tell her everything, and somehow he would find the words to make her understand just how miraculous she truly was.  

“Good.”  Belle’s nose crinkled as she smiled down at him, and Joseph was so enraptured by the sight that he was utterly unprepared for her to cup him through his trousers.

“ _Belle_!”

He slammed the back of his head against the floor hard enough to see stars, his entire body surging off the rug as he bucked wildly into her palm.  She was touching him— _touching_ him—and he was going to lose his mind.

“Hey… hey… it’s okay…” Belle crooned.  To his combined relief and despair, she lifted her hand off of him to catch hold of his hip, steadying him like a horse.

“I’m sorry,” Joseph panted.  He was terrible at this.  All she was asking him to do was lie here, and he couldn’t even do _that_ right.

“Don’t be.”  Belle’s eyes sparkled.  “It’s supposed to feel good.”

 _Good_ didn’t even begin to describe it.  The touch of Belle’s hand was Heaven, and that was through two layers of clothing.  They hadn’t even scratched the surface of what two people could do together, and the thought made Joseph feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff.  There was a whole new world in front of him, and once he took this step there was no going back.

 _Bravery will follow,_ Belle’s tattoo advised.  Belle was never wrong.

“I want to do more,” he told her, wondering if he was imagining the way her breath seemed to catch.  “I want to touch you.”

“Well, that’s good because I want you to touch me.”  Belle guided his hands to the hem of her shirt, her intentions clear.

As carefully as he could, Joseph eased it off over her head, his hands shaking so badly that he could barely manage the task.  Taking pity on him, Belle unfastened her bra herself and tossed the lacy garment aside, leaving him staring fixedly at her collarbone, unable to shift his gaze.  There was so much bare skin… so much _Belle_ … and looking directly at her was like looking into the sun.

“Why don’t you look at my tattoo?” Belle suggested gently.

It was a place to start.  Try not to look at anything in between, Joseph lowered his gaze to read the three words emblazoned on her side once again.   _Bravery will follow_.  He didn’t have to be brave.  He just had to do the brave thing, and the bravery would come later.  Cowardice had gotten him nowhere.  For Belle, he would be brave.

Belle yelped when he ducked his head to swipe his tongue over the words, and before he could panic that he’d done something wrong, her hands plunged into his hair, holding him in place.  “ _Yes_ , Joseph!”

He could barely hear her over the blood roaring in his ears.  He was kissing Belle, touching Belle, and she _liked_ it.  She was pulling on his hair and arching into him, and the floodgates burst.  For years, he’d been suppressing his own desires, and now he could no longer hold anything back.

With a cry, he pushed her onto the rug, Belle winding up on her stomach instead of her back.  Distantly, Joseph realized that wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t seem to stop long enough to get them sorted out.  He was on top of her, his cock pressed snugly against the curve of her behind as he kissed her back and shoulders, anything he could reach.

Beneath him, Belle was moaning his name as he licked and sucked, opening his mouth wide to take in as much of her as he could get.  Growling, he bit at her neck, leaving rosy pink marks in his wake, and the sight made his blood boil.   _He’d_ done that.   _He’d_ marked her perfect skin.  

Belle yowled and pushed her hips back, the friction driving him out of his mind.  Every primal urge he’d ever locked away in the depths of his mind was pouring out of him as he licked his way up her spine and mouthed at her shoulder blades, feeling feral, like he wanted to eat her alive.

“Joseph… _Joseph_ …”  Belle arched her neck to give him better access, and he could feel her heart racing as he lapped hungrily at her pulse point.  He didn’t have a clue what he was doing, but somehow he was pleasing her.

His body knew what it wanted, and it was totally out of control.  Joseph groaned as he rubbed himself against Belle, the sweet pressure making his spine go taut and his hips buck as he heaved against her.  “Belle!”

“Yes…” she muttered, her voice thick.  “Oh yes.”  

She squirmed beneath him, then grabbed one of his hands and shoved it down the front of her jeans, bringing his hand to rest on a nest of soft, wet curls and hot flesh, and Holy Mary, Mother of God, he was going to _die_.  “Fuck!”

“Touch me,” she begged, her fingers already showing his what to do.  

With her help, Joseph painted her skin with arcane runes and mystic symbols, the tiny part of his mind that was still sane struggling to commit them to memory so that he would know how to give her pleasure.  Beneath him, Belle was moaning like he was torturing her, her hips rocking back into his to urge him on, begging him for more.

He chewed on his tongue, struggling to keep himself in check, but Belle’s body was so warm and the sounds she was making were so sweet that he was helpless to resist.  Desperately, he surged against her, wanting only to be closer—closer— _closer_ , and the fire consumed him.

He muffled his shout against her throat, rejoicing when he heard her smothered scream as she tossed her head wildly, her body quaking.  He’d pleased her.  He’d actually managed to please her, and the only thing better than his own climax was the noises Belle made in the throes of her own.

It felt like several centuries passed before he was able to open his eyes again, finding himself resting comfortably against her back as his fingers continued to draw lazy patterns against her core.  Not quite sure what to do, Joseph swept his tongue over her shoulder to lap up a few droplets of sweat before he found his voice.  “Are you… all right?”

“All right?”  Belle rolled over to face him, forcing him to remove his hand from its new home.  “That was _incredible_.”

Her blissful tone made him laugh helplessly.  “I love you.”

Giving in to temptation, Joseph lifted his hand to his mouth, curious about the taste of her.  Dazed blue eyes tracked his movement, and when he closed his lips over his fingers, Belle moaned.  “Are you _sure_ you’re a priest?”

Joseph blinked at her.  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

“So much for not knowing what you’re doing.  I think you could teach _me_ a few things.”  Belle shook her head in wonder.

Joseph’s face heated when he took her meaning.  He hadn’t disappointed her.  Belle was pleased with him.   _Very_ pleased from the look of her.  

Embarrassed, he ducked his head to kiss her shoulder.  “We didn’t even get our clothes off.”  He’d barely even looked at her breasts, much less touched them.  Already, he could think of a hundred things he wanted to try, assuming that Belle was up for another go.

“Next time.”  Belle snuggled into him and rested her head on his chest.  With gentle fingers, she traced his tattoos.  “I need another tattoo— one for you.”

“You’d do that?”  The thought of Belle wanting to do such a thing, to mark herself indelibly with a symbol of him, was almost more overwhelming than anything they’d done together.

“Of course.”  She kissed his chest.  “I love you.”

As long as she loved him, nothing else mattered.  The details would work themselves out.

“And I love you.”


End file.
